


and thus, the story ran

by meggieglad



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: I love him, Pining, So Much Poetry, a ridiculous amount of ocean metaphors, beach bonfires, beach town au, boardwalk dates, jean valjean papa to all, lots of surfing, montparnasse is a giant dweeb, of course theres pining, skeeball contests, this fic is literally about friendship bracelets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-24 05:38:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7495977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meggieglad/pseuds/meggieglad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your quintessential beach-town AU. Grantaire and Eponine work at an Inn by the beach, the amis all end up there somehow, everyone falls in love, and wishes go horrible awry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and thus, the story ran

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is already my baby. The title is from 'Prelude; The Wayside Inn' by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wish bracelets & first meetings! (I really really should have edited this but i didn't, maybe later)

GRANTAIRE BREATHED IN deeply as the waves ebbed and flowed under his board. He was lying flat on his stomach, cheek pressed to the surface of the board, eyes blinking lazily. One hand hung off and dangled into the sea, fingers just grazing the water. His palm floated airily, carefully not braking through the surface tension. This happened, sometimes. He would go out to catch a few waves and end up just floating there, breathing in the salt and listening to the whisper of the waves.

The sun was setting. It turned the sky a vibrant orange and tossed warm rays of color into the gray-green ocean. It was the kind of moment that deserved to be painted, and Grantaire stared out into the distance, trying to commit it to memory. He sighed with an unexpected abandon. He was, however rare and sudden the feeling may be, content.

“Hey, is that R?” Came a voice from the shore.

“R!” This was Eponine. Grantaire would know her voice anywhere. “Hey, R!”

Grantaire lifted his head up slightly and opened one eye toward the shore. Eponine was making her way down the beach, with a shadow that looked distinctly like Montparnasse sauntering behind her. Grantaire threw them a sideways grin, although he was unsure if they could see from such a distance. Eponine trotted into the sea, board under her arm, and dark hair bouncing in a messy bun atop her head. She dropped her board into the waves and threw herself on top of it. Parnasse mimicked these movements and soon they were both paddling toward Grantaire.

He sat up to greet them, shimmying up his board and pushing himself into sitting position, with one leg hanging off each side of the surfboard. “Fancy meeting you jerks here!” He called, when they were in shouting distance. They threw back a few half-hearted insults before taking to the surf, all three of them racing to catch the best waves.

Sometime in the next couple of hours, the sun dropped below the horizon and the world grew dark. This was one of Grantaire’s favorite times to be on the beach. He liked to try to pinpoint the moment that the sky grew too dark to be discernable from the sea. This was especially true this particular night, as there was no moon in sight.

“We should go in, shouldn’t we?” Eponine asked, from somewhere to his left.

“Ughhh, I don’t want too.” Grantaire whined. It had been such a perfect first day, he didn’t want it to end.

“Well I, for one, am not trying to be attacked by sharks before I’ve shown off my new summer wardrobe.” Montparnasse quipped. Grantaire scoffed and Parnasse kicked a wave of saltwater into his face.

“C’mon, R. We have all summer for this. Months.” Eponine said, as she began to paddle back towards the shore. She was right. Eponine was generally right about most things. It was slightly infuriating.

The trio dragged themselves out of the water, Montparnasse shaking out his hair dramatically as he went. They carried their boards up through the tall grass and off the beach, and started crisscrossing through the soundless streets. Corinth Cove was sleepy even in the day, but this early May night, before the season was even in swing, the town was silent but for the waves on the shore.

Grantaire and Eponine parted ways with Montparnasse when they reached the street of his family’s summer house, the latter all but disappearing into the darkness just seconds after wishing them goodnight. “Sleep tight. I hope you both dream of questionable things.” The remaining two shared a bemused look as they continued the few blocks back to the Musain.

The building was, on the ground level, a popular hangout spot. Above, there were a few floors of Inn-style rooms, two of which were Eponine’s and Grantaire’s. They were both hired at the Musain the same year, having been offered housing plus minimum wage for the summer in return for employment. Eponine waitressed down in the Café, and Grantaire acted as both the front desk and bellhop. It was, all in all, a pretty sweet gig. The duo stowed their boards in the shed and walked into the Musain as though they owned the place. After six summers there, it sort of felt like they did. They bantered with the kitchen staff like old friends, and saw the owner, Valjean, as something of a weird, cool uncle.

They found the man in question skimming over the newspaper at one of the café tables. He looked up at the sound of the door opening and grinned handsomely at the two. “Hey, Mr. V.” Eponine greeted. Valjean stood and gathered Eponine into a warm hug. She tried to act put off, but Grantaire saw a small smile ghost her lips as she patted the man awkwardly on the back. “I didn’t see you around when I first got in. I know you wanted to talk about my schedule.”

“Your schedule, sure.” Valjean said, but with a wave of his hand. “But mostly, you! How have _you_ been Eponine?” Grantaire was convinced that Valjean was some kind of saint, an angel sent to both of them in their time of need. Grantaire had already been showered with his boss’ chatter and well-wishes when he arrived that morning. He zoned out a bit as Eponine gave her generic answers about how this semester was the same as all the rest and was instead distracted by the familiar aroma of the Café Musain. The smell of the tide should not mix this well with that of coffee beans, Grantaire thought, but nonetheless, the scent was heavenly. The tables were empty now, but within the month he knew they would be brimming with customers, locals and guests of the hotel alike.

Up until then, Grantaire had enjoyed his summers a good amount, of course. He loved coming back every year, being a few feet from the ocean, and a few blocks from the nearest surfing beach, but this year was the first time he felt this intensely _home_. He wondered how he was able to do that, to place a feeling he had never felt before. He felt at home. He was going soft.

“Now, while I have you both here.” Valjean was saying, and Grantaire snapped out of his reverie at having been addressed. “I wanted to let you know that my daughter will be staying here with me at the Musain this summer!” He seemed very enthralled by this fact. Grantaire had known that Valjean had a daughter, but never met her. “She is finally taking some time off from her endless internships and study abroad programs, bless her heart, to spend a summer with her old man.” Grantaire got the sense that the man was bragging a bit, but it was obviously out of such pure pride in his daughter. “I would really like to introduce her to you three. She’s just about your age and I think you would get along well! She should be here any minute, actually. I was expecting it to be her when you two walked in!”

Valjean was practically bouncing off the walls with excitement. It was kind of adorable. Yeah, Grantaire was definitely going soft.

So that’s how the two of them ended up sitting in the Musain, still damp with saltwater and in desperate need of showers, waiting for the arrival of a young girl by the name of Cosette.

When she finally arrived, Grantaire was first overcome by the sheer lightness she brought with her. He could swear the whole room was brighter, just by this girl being in it. If he thought Valjean was an angel, he didn’t know what to call this girl. How Valjean thought his overachieving, sweetheart of a daughter would get along with two walking disasters and their fashionable pet pickpocket, Grantaire had no idea. Cosette pulled both Grantaire and Eponine into hugs as they were introduced.

“I’m so happy to finally meet you guys! My father says you’re some of his favorite employees.” She stage-whispered. Musichetta, the one barista working that night, gasped dramatically as she walked through the kitchen doors. She rounded the counter and made her way over to the group.

“I heard that!” She complained. “Is this true, Mr. V?” She was grinning with mirth as she set her hands on her hips.

“You know I don’t play favorites, Musichetta.” Valjean said, earnestly, but the end of his reply was cut off by a shrill exclamation from Cosette.

“Chetta!!” Cosette tackled this much taller girl into a bear hug and held on for dear life. Grantaire got the suspicion that little Cosette was stronger than she looked.

“Don’t you ‘Chetta’ me.” Musichetta said, but she was now swinging Cosette around by the waist. “What’s it been? Five years?! Six??”

“I know. I’m sorry Chetta! I’ve been busy.”

“I know, love.”

As soon as Cosette’s feet were once more planted on the ground, Valjean began chattering away about how he was sure they would all be fast friends. Eponine looked skeptical of this. Eponine was, as a rule, skeptical of most people. This didn’t last long, for in the middle of her father’s diatribe, Cosette let out a small gasp.

“Eponine, I love your bracelets!” She enthused. Grantaire wasn’t sure if this was a stroke of luck or is Cosette was alarmingly shrewd. He knew this was the perfect way to win Eponine over. Eponine’s gaze flicked from Cosette’s face down to the bracelets. They were the kind they sold in surf shops, with colorful string, and Eponine wore them all up her arm. “I used to buy new ones every summer! You have to show me where you got yours.”

“Oh, actually I um, made them?” She said it like a question.

Cosette’s jaw fell open. “They’re gorgeous! You _have_ to show me how.” Eponine opened her mouth, probably to wave off these compliments, but then Musichetta was pitching in. “Yeah, me too. Those are awesome.”

So _that_ was how the four of them ended up in the back corner of the Musain, with yarn tangled around their fingers.  The bottle of pink wine on the table was ruining any chance they might have had at making successful bracelets, but Grantaire couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed that much.

“Why did we never hang out before?” Grantaire asked Musichetta, who was proving to be hilarious and very chill.

“Because you two run with that pale string bean who stole my kite when I was thirteen.” She replied, without missing a beat. Grantaire thought this was hilarious and texted Montparnasse, obviously the string bean in question. _Get to Musain_ he texted, hoping he would confirm the tale. Montparnasse arrived ten minutes later, took one look at Musichetta, and said with narrowed eyes: “ _You._ ” And now Grantaire was even more intrigued.

“Parnasse, is it true you stole this girl’s kite when you were kids?” Eponine asked, without looking up from the bracelet she was deftly weaving.

“Yes.” He shrugged, dropping into the seat beside Cosette. She greeted him pleasantly, introducing herself. He stared down at her trendy romper and lace up gladiator sandals and nodded in approval. “I like this one.” Cosette beamed graciously. “That one,” he gestured in the general direction of Musichetta. “Not so much.”

“Oh come on,” Chetta said. “You steal a little girl’s kite, you deserved to get punched in the face. Are we all in agreement here?” Grantaire was too busy dying of laughter to agree. Eponine was in a similar state, and Cosette seemed as though she was trying very hard not to switch over to her new friend’s bad side. Musichetta continued. “It wasn’t _my_ fault you have zero pain tolerance.”

“I was thirteen!” Montparnasse snapped.

“So was I!”

“Yeah, sorry Parnasse, you definitely deserved to get punched in the face.” Grantaire agreed.

“Yeah, you pretty much always deserve to get punched in the face.” Eponine said. Montparnasse grabbed the cork from the table and chucked it at her. It missed terribly.

“I’m sure that’s not true.” Cosette clucked, with teasing sympathetically. “Look at this pretty face, you’re making it pout.”

“Nah, Cosette, seriously,” Musichetta put in. “He’s the island’s friendly neighborhood slimeball. See, he knows it!” She gestured to where Montparnasse seemed to be taking this comment as some sort of compliment.

“You talk so sweet, Musichetta.”

The night continued on in this fashion. Everyone else was hopeless at making the bracelets. No one cared much though, as Eponine was able to make one for each of them. Grantaire had asked for his to be a deep sea green, with sunny orange accents, like the sea from that evening. Eponine even convinced Montparnasse to take one although he loudly declared them to be tacky. Cosette told them about how when you buy the bracelets in the shop they give you a little card that tells you to make a wish on the bracelet before you tie them on. Then, when the bracelet falls off, it means your wish has come true.

Most of the time, Grantaire didn’t make wishes. He couldn’t remember the last time he blew out candles on a birthday cake. He never even understood how people determined the first star they saw in the night sky; he always just saw all of it, all at once. How did anyone know which star to wish on? He thought tossing coins in a fountain was a waste. He wasn’t sure whether he even would have wished on those things, should the opportunity have arisen. Grantaire wasn’t the kind of guy who put faith in anything, let alone in a wish, but tonight, Eponine had made him a bracelet and Cosette had specifically instructed for him to wish on it. How could he disobey? Grantaire wasn’t sure if was the wine or just that giddy feeling that had been festering in his chest all night, but something compelled him to make the most useless wish he could possibly have thought of.

If Grantaire wasn’t to type to go around making wishes, he definitely wasn’t the type to wish for love, but there he sat, with his bracelet tied firmly around his wrist, wondering why he would waste a perfectly good wish.

Grantaire was dying to what everyone else wished for, but he also knew enough of wish etiquette to know that a wish spoken aloud will not come true. If he hadn’t know this, though, he might have asked the rest of the group, and if he had, he might’ve found that all four of them wished for the exact same thing as he had. He might have stood corrected, in that a wish to fall in love is never wasted.

~

COMBFERRE WAS THE first of his friends to arrive on Corinth Cove. This was not a surprise; Combeferre was always the first of his friends to arrive anywhere. He had a thing about being early. One day, years ago, Combeferre’s car broke down. Joly was the first to arrive at the meeting that night and ended up calling the police, in fear that Combeferre had been kidnapped. So, it was imperative that Combeferre be the first one on the island.

Still, it probably wasn’t strictly necessary for Combeferre to arrive _six hours_ before everyone else, but there he was.

He did a drive by of their housing situation first thing. Sure, he wasn’t able to check in for three and a half hours, but he wanted to scope the place out. The Musain turned out to be an adorable Inn with an attached coffee shop. This pleased Combeferre to no end. His coffee addiction would remain alive and well through the summer, after all. He merrily parked his car and walked into the café.

The sign at the front informed him that he could order at the bar or take a seat and order from a waitress. Ah, a crossroads. The girl at the bar was kind of intimidating and seemed to be in a bad mood. Combeferre thought, possibly, that sitting and waiting for a server might be the smartest move here. Besides, he had time to kill, and this was as good a place to sit as any. He made his way decidedly toward a booth by the window, shucked off his backpack, and scanned the menu.

His phone rang out with a text, which ended up being from Enjolras warning that he was probably going to be late this afternoon— shocker, but otherwise the café was quiet. Due to this silence, and because Combeferre was currently the only customer in the shop, it was difficult not to notice when the girl at the bar huffed and stood from her stool. She rounded the counter and headed straight towards Combferre’s table. Of course, he should have known. In an attempt to avoid bothering the daunting girl at the bar, he had ultimately sealed his fate and had likely made her angrier in the process. He hadn’t meant to make her get up and walk all the way across the café to take his order. Combeferre cursed all past decisions that led him here and tried to look apologetic as the waitress approached.

“I’m sorry,” He said, as she pulled order slips out of her pocket. “I thought there would be a different waitress.” The girl raised her eyebrows in annoyance as the words left Combeferre’s mouth, and he was left wondering why. He was only trying to apologize.

“Well, too bad.” She snapped. “Musichetta isn’t in today. You’re stuck with me.”

“What? Oh! No, that’s not-” He stammered. “That isn’t what I meant!”

“You weren’t looking for Musichetta?”

“No.”

She nodded a few times, unsurprised. “So, you were just hoping for someone who wasn’t me.” The waitress, said, as if she was just clarifying. Combeferre was at times baffled at his own inability to get across his thoughts. This was one of those times.

“Jesus. Oh, fuck me.” He said, in frustration. Her eyes widened, but there was something like amusement in them, confusingly enough. “Sorry, I just. No. When I came in, I saw you and you looked like you didn’t want to deal with me, and so I thought if I sat, someone else would have to, you know, come take my order and stuff, and so I wouldn’t bother you. But then, really, I just made you get up and walk over here, and then I offended you. So, really, just fuck me, I can totally go find someone else to bother for coffee.” He began gathering his backpack and stood, but he only got one strap on before the waitress stopped him.

“Just sit down.” She sighed. Combeferre froze and she just waited, eyes darting from Combeferre to the booth, expectantly. “The rest of the coffee on the island is shit.” She explained. “Goddamn, kid. _Sit_.” Combeferre sat.  “Now, what can I get for you?”

Combeferre ordered a latte, and after a few moments’ deliberation stood and followed the waitress to the counter. This way, she at least wouldn’t have to bring his drink all the way back over. Only problem was, she apparently didn’t know he had even moved from his booth, since she had her back to him and was using the noisy coffee equipment. When she turned and saw him leaning over the counter, she jumped, and some of the coffee sloshed out and spilled onto her shirt.

“Oh shit! Warn a girl next time! Damn!”

“Oh god, I’m _so_ sorry. I thought you knew… can I get you napkins or something? Or like, I’ll pay to have your shirt cleaned.”

“It’s fine it’s only a little.” She dropped his latte unceremoniously on the counter and grabbed a towel, dabbing at her shirt. Combeferre kept apologizing anyway, but she just shook her head. “Seriously, chill out, it’s my work shirt. I really don’t care. It was just, like, _really_ hot. Fuck.”

“Oh god, um, I think ice would probably help. For the burn, you should ice it.”

Combeferre was studying to be a doctor. Combeferre knew how to classify and treat every burn in the book, and probably even had the proper burn cream in his car, and yet, _ice_ is the brilliant medical remedy that first came to his mind. Then, he was suddenly thinking that to ice this burn she would surely have to lift up her shirt, and he really wasn’t trying to come off like some kind of creep. “I didn’t mean to insinua-”

“Dude, oh my god.” She interrupted, throwing the towel down on the counter and leaning onto her elbows. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re, like, really awkward?” She asked, with a laugh. It was more than a laugh really, she was kind of cracking up. For a moment, this did not compute with Combeferre, that this girl seemed somehow happier than she was before he waltzed in and caused her all sorts of annoyance and also mild pain. But, if his complete and utter lack of social grace could cheer this girl up, then so be it.

“Yes, believe it or not, I have been told that once or twice.” He admitted, sardonically. He rubbed his hands over his face a few times, and let out a sort of half-breath, half-laugh. He grabbed a ten dollar bill from his pocket and laid it on the counter. “Alright, well, as long as you are okay, I’ll just take this latte and go wallow in my own embarrassment.” The waitress, still laughing a bit, deftly counted out change and went to hand it to him, but Combeferre was already backing away. “Uh, uh, you keep that, please. And thank you again, miss…”

“Eponine.” She supplied.

“Eponine.” He repeated, and Combeferre rarely forgot anything he learned, but he knew in that second, that he would never, for as long as he lived, forget a name like that, although maybe it had more to do with the girl herself.

~

EPONINE HAD REALLY been in a shit mood when the tall, bespectacled boy walked into the café. She had just gotten to the tail end of running over all the horrifying details in her head when the bell rang and she had to deal with the most awkward person to ever grace the shores of Corinth Cove.

The day hadn’t started out bad. Actually, it had begun rather fantastically.

Eponine awoke to the sound of her phone vibrating by her ear. Any irritation she felt about being woken up was washed clear away with the sight of Marius’ name on the screen. She thumbed across the screen quickly to open the message.

_Ponine! I’m here early. @ café now!_

Marius wasn’t supposed to be on the island for another week, so this was a very pleasant surprise. Eponine had practically leapt out of bed and sprinted down the stairs, but not without checking her reflection in the mirror and tying her hair into a loose braid, of course.

She found Marius leaning on the bar, squinting down at the menu, and looking as handsome as ever. He looked up at the sound of Eponine’s footsteps and his freckly face broke out into a wide smile.

“Ponine, my sweet summer friend!” Marius was a fan of big sweeping pronouncements, and sometimes his manner of speaking came off very practiced and theatrical. Marius had greeted her in this manner every year since they met. He held his arms out and she ran into them. Eponine’s heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest. Eponine and Marius had been friends for years, much to Eponine’s misery and frustration. Every summer she hoped desperately that things would be different, and every summer she was let down. It was really a very masochistic cycle. If she had any sense at all, she would make some effort to stop it. As it was, she was still very hopelessly in love.

She was just beginning to think that maybe she should let up her grip on Marius’ shoulders when the staircase door sounded from behind them. All at once, Marius abruptly dropped his arms from where they were wrapped around Eponine’s waist, and the newcomer’s voice broke through whatever thoughtful state Eponine had entered.

“Eponine you won’t believe it! It’s only been two days, and already, my bracelet, it’s—” Cosette had entered sounding slightly distraught, before her voice broke off entirely. Eponine backed reluctantly away from Marius to address Cosette, but it seemed she was already distracted. She and Marius were staring at each other, stunned. Both of them looked like they had seen a ghost. Suddenly, a grin fell across Marius’ face, as if of its own accord.

“Cosette!”

“Marius!”

The two collided, and the force of it shattered Eponine’s world. Nothing was fair.

“You two know each other?” Eponine choked out, although the answer was already clear. They separated, but Marius held Cosette at arm’s length, his hands cupping her elbows. Eponine felt like she was going to be sick. This couldn’t be happening. The duo blushed a bright scarlet, still seemingly unable to take their eyes off each other.

“We did, a long time ago.” Marius answered.

“We were just teenagers.” Cosette said. “I can’t believe it’s you.”

“You? No, _I_ can’t believe it. Cosette I’ve come back to the Musain every year just hoping to see you again!” Marius declared.

It took a moment for the implications of Marius’ words to sink in, but when they did, Eponine felt a sick jolt in her chest. It had been Cosette all along. Cosette was the only reason Eponine had even met Marius in the first place. He had been here for her, that first day and every day after. Eponine needed this to stop right now. “Cosette, what was that you wanted to talk to me about?” She practically shouted, the words feeling foreign in her mouth.

“Oh… oh!” Cosette replied. “Nothing, actually. It all makes sense now, Eponine!”

“Ponine,” Marius had finally let go of Cosette and seemed to remember Eponine’s presence. “Thank you, so much!” He pulled the brunette into another hug, which she confusedly returned.

“For what?”

“For keeping me here! If it wasn’t for you, if you weren’t such a good friend, I wouldn’t have kept coming back to the Musain. I might have given up years ago! But then I made friends with you. And you kept me coming back, Ponine. You kept me coming back so that I could be here at the right moment, and I could finally ask if Cosette would like to accompany me to dinner tonight?” Cosette’s blush somehow deepened and she nodded, her blonde curls bouncing up and down on her shoulders.

Eponine wanted to scream. She wanted to shout at Marius that, no, that is not at all why she had kept him here. Not at all. But Eponine had the distinct impression that Marius wouldn’t even hear if she did start yelling those things at him.

Eponine went virtually unnoticed as she backed out of the café and retreated up the stairs. She made it all the way to her room before the tears finally fell onto her cheeks.

She let herself cry only until she had to start getting ready for her shift. By the time she made it downstairs, she was dressed and ready, and only looked a tiny bit puffy. She was in a foul mood, and was not in any sort of place to deal with customers. She had hoped that the café would stay mostly empty.

It wasn’t until she went to throw her apron over her head, that Eponine noticed her left wrist. Somewhere between her room and the café, her new bracelet had fallen off. So much for her wish coming true. Any optimism and hope Eponine had felt the night she tied on her bracelet was out the window. Cosette’s bracelet fell of and she got asked out on date with Marius. Eponine’s fell off just as she had her heart stomped all over. Sounded about right.

Eponine wished desperately that she could resent Cosette. If it had been anyone else, she would have had no problem cursing her name. Sure, it had only been a few days, but Cosette was her friend. She added a much needed dynamic to their group and Eponine really liked her. The whole situation was absolute trash. Complete garbage.

She needed Grantaire to wake up and come down to the café. It was noon for christ’s sake. She could really use her friend’s cynicism and total disgust for Marius about now. Instead, she got her first customer of the day.

~

GRANTAIRE WOKE UP twenty minutes before he was scheduled to start his shift at the front desk. It was his third day on the island and still everything was going alright. He threw his polo on and wandered downstairs, off-handedly wishing he had left time for breakfast. Maybe Eponine would bring him something on her break, if she was in a good mood. He’d have to text her. He shuffled over to the clock-in cards and almost bumped right into Valjean on the way.

“Grantaire, I’m glad I caught you! I’ve been meaning to let you know, I think you’ll find your job quite a bit easier this year.” The man said. “There’s a group of young men who are renting six of our rooms all summer. That only leaves four rooms that will be regularly checked in and out of, so you’ll have a bit less to worry about on that front.”

Grantaire was rather pleased with this information, as he was something of a lazy asshole, and this new development really did sound like a lot less work for him. “Sounds good to me, boss.” He said, punching his card.

“That whole group should be checking in this afternoon, though, so be ready.”

“I’m always ready.” Grantaire shot back. This was a complete lie. In fact, Grantaire was almost never ready for anything that came his way. Today was no different.

The first event that Grantaire was certainly not ready for, was his summer’s first run in with Marius Pontmercy. Grantaire wasn’t Pontmercy’s biggest fan. He mostly found him annoying, and thought he must be relatively stupid not to jump at the chance to date Eponine. So, really, Grantaire was never thrilled to see the freckled boy, but fate had other plans. Plans which involved Grantaire having to hold a conversation with the boy for twenty minutes while he waited in the lobby for someone. The boy greeted Grantaire as though they were old friends, despite the eye roll Grantaire shot him upon entry.

“Ponine has a shift out in the café, you know.” Grantaire informed, after two minutes of Marius silently fidgeting in one of the lobby chairs.

“Oh! I know. Thank you, Grantaire.”

“What are you doing in my lobby, then?” Grantaire asked. Pontmercy looked endearingly confused at Grantaire’s sharp tone, but seemed otherwise unbothered by it.

“I’m waiting for Cosette!” Marius exclaimed, as though this was the most obvious thing in the world. “We’re um, old friends, and I’m taking her out today.” He said, his voice dreamy, and faraway.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Grantaire said. This was not good. At all. This was the very opposite of good. “Are you taking her out? Like… out, out? Like, on a date, out?” Grantaire questioned, his head spiraling with this new information, and his heart sinking for Eponine.

“Yes! Do I…” Marius suddenly looked horrified, his eyes grew impossibly wider and his brows furrowed together in concern. “Do I not look like I’m ready for a date? I knew I should have gone with a tie! I’m already messing this all up aren’t I, Grantaire?”

“You look fine, Pontmercy, just fine.” Grantaire said, distractedly. He really couldn’t have those two walk right by Eponine, hand in hand. If Eponine didn’t already know, that was certainly not the way she deserved to find out. “Hey,” He got an idea. “You really want to impress her?” Grantaire asked. Marius nodded urgently. “Take her out the back way. There’s a bunch of wildflowers that grow on the side of the building. Pick the prettiest one and give it to her. Works every time.” Grantaire said, as though he began dates this way all the time. If Marius had known Grantaire better, he would probably have laughed at the insinuation that Grantaire even went on dates.

“Thank you, Grantaire.” Marius said, wholeheartedly. “You are truly a life saver.”

“That’s what they call me.” He responded, giving himself a pat on the back. He really was, wasn’t he? Still, although the original crisis was averted, there was still the issue of telling Eponine that her crush of six years was wining-and-dining their new friend. The entire situation was a load of shit. He slid his phone out and texted Eponine, attempting to hide his phone under the desk.

_Visit me on ur break?_

_& maybe bring me food?? Love u._

About twenty minutes after Marius and Cosette slipped out the back way, Eponine appeared in the doorway. She looked vaguely as though she had been run over by a truck, but Grantaire still couldn’t be sure if it was due to heartbrokenness, because this was generally Eponine’s desired aesthetic. She tossed him a brown paper bag, which Grantaire opened to find a bagel with cream cheese.

“You’re the best Ep.” He said, sliding the bagel out of its package. “So, um, Eponine. You know how I always said that Marius isn’t good enough for you?” He asked, deciding to just get right to the point.

“I already know.” She said.

“What?”

“I know about… those two already.” She said, seemingly unable to bring herself to saying their names. Well, that was something of a relief, as Grantaire no longer had to be the bearer of bad news. “I was there when it happened.” She continued.

“You… what?”

“I was talking to him when she showed up and… they practically dove into each other’s arms.”

“Oh my god, Eponine. That’s so fucked up. Oh my god.”

“Tell me about it. Oh, and then, you won’t believe it. He fucking thanked me. He was all ‘Ponine thank you for bringing us together at last! If it weren’t for your friendship I might not be standing in this café at this perfect moment!’ He fucking…he just…” She trailed off, and let her head fall back against the wall. “Why do I do this to myself?” Grantaire let than hang in the hair for a few moments, because he didn’t really have an answer for that.

“Eponine, I know I tell you this every summer, but you can do _so_ much better than that guy. We both know it. And I totally get it if you want to stop hanging around with Cosette-”

“No,” Eponine interrupted. “It’s not her fault. It’s no one’s fault… it’s just-”

“Garbage.”

“Complete trash.”

“Wanna get drunk tonight?” Grantaire asked.

“Fuck yes.” Eponine sighed and rested her chin in her palm. Grantaire noticed her bracelet from two nights ago was gone. He wondered if she’d torn it off. It wasn’t much of a mystery to Grantaire, what Eponine might have wished for.

“Your bracelet.” He commented, evenly.

“It fell off.” She shrugged. “So did Cosette’s apparently. She seemed to think her wish was about to come true. I just think my new string must be total shit.”

Grantaire stared down at his own bracelet, picking at the yarn a bit. “You never know. Maybe yours has started coming true, too.”

“I promise, it’s hasn’t. And stop with that fake-ass cheery bullshit, I’m fine.”

“Thank God. Trying to be optimistic for your sake was really tiring me out.” Grantaire said. Eponine managed a laugh at that, and Grantaire wondered how he had such little faith in Eponine. She was strong. She would be fine.

Grantaire crumpled up his bagel bag and tossed it into the trash can. A moment later, the lobby door opened, and a very tall, very smart looking man stepped inside with a backpack and a rolling suitcase. Eponine took one look at him and stood. “I’m out.” She said, throwing her apron back over her neck and making for the door. Grantaire looked curiously at the man, but the newcomer did not say anything to explain the strange interaction. He only stared sheepishly over at Eponine, adjusted his glasses, and approached the desk.

“Last name: Combeferre. I’m checking in.”

The second event that Grantaire was completely unprepared for was the arrival of the strangest guest the Inn had ever housed.

He was a tiny thing, with wide eyes, and a strawberry blonde braid hanging down his back. He seemed to have found the wildflowers Grantaire told Marius about, because some of them were woven into his hair. He wore the strangest mish mosh of patterns Grantaire could remember seeing on one person. The boy donned a fitted t-shirt made to look like the sky, bright blue with puffy white clouds all over the front. Cartoon foxes smiled up at Grantaire from the guest’s ankle length leggings. His toes were painted black and he wore Velcro sandals. To top off the look, he had a thick plaid flannel tied around his waist.

Grantaire automatically loved him.

“Checking in?” Grantaire asked, curious about what might come out of the boy’s mouth.

“Yes, please.” He said, shrugging off his Vera Bradley luggage and leaning over the desk. “Jean Prouvaire.” Grantaire got to work checking the boy in, slightly disappointed at this handbook interaction. As he typed his name into the system, the Jean Prouvaire hummed contentedly. “You know,” he said, after a moment. “This place reminds me of a poem.” Grantaire looked up, hopeful.

“Oh yeah?” He said.

“Mhm.” Jean Prouvaire mused. “I can recite a verse, if you’d like?” He seemed slightly nervous at this prospect, but still grinned up at Grantaire excitedly.

“Please do.” Grantaire nodded, and waited. He was not disappointed. Jean Prouvaire cleared his throat and began to recite.

“One Autumn night, in Sudbury town,

Across the meadows bare and brown,

The windows of the wayside inn

Gleamed red with fire-light through the leaves

Of woodbine, hanging from the eaves

Their crimson curtains rent and thin.”

Grantaire was properly charmed by this strange boy. He grinned and Jean Prouvaire seemed to take it as a que to continue.

“As ancient is this hostelry

As any in the land may be,

Built in the old Colonial day,

When men lived in a grander way,

With ampler hospitality;

A kind of old Hobgoblin Hall,

Now somewhat fallen to decay,

With weather-stains upon the wall,

And stairways worn, and crazy doors,

And creaking and uneven floors,

And chimneys huge, and tiled and tall.”

The boy was getting more and more excited as he went, as though the words thrilled him. He was certainly in his element; that much was for sure. Grantaire never wanted to stop listening to his voice, it was soothing and soft, and almost musical. He would hereby look for Jean Prouviare whenever he was sad, and just listen to him read poetry.

“A region of repose it seems,

A place of slumber and of dreams,

Remote among the wooded hills!

For there no noisy railway speeds,

Its torch-race scattering smoke and gleeds;

But noon and night, the panting teams

Stop under the great oaks, that throw

Tangles of light and shade below,

On roofs and doors and window-sills.”

Grantaire could have fallen asleep there just listening to the poem, but Jean Prouvaire stopped there and Grantaire snapped out of it. The strange boy was blushing a bit when Grantaire looked back down at him.

“That was awesome, dude.” Grantaire enthused, while finally sliding over his room key and wifi card. This just deepened the blush on Prouvaire’s cheeks. “Seriously.” Grantaire said, earnestly. “You’ll be here all summer right? You should totally read at the open mic night in the café sometime. That would be sick.”

“Perhaps I will.” Jean Prouvaire said, pocketing his key. “You can call me Jehan, by the way.”

“Jehan, nice to meet you. I’m R.”

“A letter is a very mysterious thing to be called.” Jehan said. Grantaire didn’t know how to respond to that.

“Is it?”

“Oh, yes.” He nodded seriously. “Well, I will be seeing you around, R.” And with that, Jehan was climbing the stairs, somehow carrying a suitcase double his size.

The last thing Grantaire was not prepared for that day, was Montparnasse slinking down the stairs and into the lobby about twenty minutes later. He sidled up to the front desk and sighed dramatically until Grantaire gave him his full attention.

“Parnasse how’d you even get upstairs, I’ve been sitting here this whole time.”

“Stayed with Eponine last night. Do you have any scissors?” Montparnasse questioned. Grantaire was baffled as to how these two things were related. On second thought, he very emphatically hoped that they weren’t related at all.

“No I don’t have scissors. Why?”

“Oh, _fine.”_ Parnasse whined, as though giving in. He produced a pocket knife a moment later and flipped it open, dramatically.

“What are you doing with that?” Grantaire questioned, tired and completely unfit to deal with Montparnasse’s antics. Parnasse ignored the question in favor of hoisting himself onto the front desk. He pulled one leg into his chest and rolled up his pant leg, which was really impressive, as his pants looked as though they could have been painted onto his legs. “Ok seriously, what are you doing?” Grantaire’s question was answered when Montparnasse grasped at his anklet and held the knife to it. “Are you trying to cut off your wish bracelet?”

“Obviously.”

“Cosette will be upset with you, you know. Is having a fashionable ankle worth that much to you?”

“This isn’t about fashion, R.”

Grantaire let out an exaggerated gasp and brought his hand to his chest. “I’m surprised at you, Parnasse!” The boy looked distraught, though, so Grantaire humored him. “Alright, if not for style, why do you so desperately need this bracelet off?”

“I need my wish to come true. Right now.” Montparnasse whined. Grantaire wasn’t sure when he and his band of cynic friends began believing in the power of wishing bracelets, but this was ultimately what was happening. They were _all_ going soft. He blamed Cosette.

“Okay, I’m pretty sure that isn’t how it works, dude.”

“I live by my own rules, Grantaire.” He declared. And with that, Montparnasse tore into the bracelet with his pocket knife. It snapped off and fell unceremoniously onto the desk. Grantaire stared at the tangle black and grey string. That was three bracelets down, in one day. Grantaire and Musichetta now wore the only bracelets that were still intact. He tried not to think too hard about that, but the bracelet weighed his arm down like a ton of bricks all though the rest of his shift.

~

JEHAN STILL HAD poems dancing around in his head as he climbed the stairs of the Musain Inn for the first time. To be fair, there was hardly a time that Jehan did not have poems in his head. This time, though they were very specifically Longfellow. He had been reading and rereading _The Wayside Inn_ ever since he found out that the ABC would be staying at an Inn all summer. He was not disappointed in the coziness of the place. He couldn’t help himself when he entered the lobby; he just had to recite a few verses. Sometimes, when the perfect time arose for a poem, the words would just spill out of him. The boy at the desk with the mysterious name hadn’t even judged him, so Jehan had a good feeling already.

He was going over a few more verses in his head as he walked down the hall, in search of his room. The words were a sort of backing soundtrack as he pulled out his phone and scrolled through the ABC group chat. It seemed that both Combeferre and Courfeyrac had already arrived and were exploring the boardwalk, Joly and Bossuet were driving together and were just about to cross the bridge, and Fueilly and Bahorel were both set to arrive in an hour. Enjolras was, unsurprisingly, running late and had just left his house. Jehan went about to type out a text, intending to ask the two C’s where they were so he could join them.

He failed to complete this task, though, as he suddenly collided with someone who was rounding the corner quite quickly, and both of them stumbled backward. Jehan might not have fallen had he not been hauling around his giant suitcase, but he was, and so he did.

The other man stumbled back into the wall, but remained upright. Jehan looked up at him and his thoughts were full of poetry once more. The boy was tall and thin and very lovely. He wore a sheer black button up shirt and dark skinny jeans. He looked completely put together, and wore a smarmy expression that insinuated he knew something you didn’t. The only color Jehan could spot on the boy was the deep rose of his lips, which were curved downward in annoyance. There was one detail Jehan could see, from his spot on the floor, that didn’t quite fit with the rest. It was a surf shop string bracelet, tied tight around his ankle.

It was as though Longfellow had written these lines specifically for this boy and this moment, and Jehan couldn’t resist. He said the words before deciding to, but, again, the moment called for it.

“His face was like a summer night,

All flooded with a dusky light;

His hands were small; his teeth shone white

As sea-shells, when he smiled or spoke;

His sinews supple and strong as oak.”

His voice wavered slightly as he finished, and Jehan could feel his cheeks heating up. He cursed his constantly blushing cheeks.

“Was that… poetry?” The boy asked from above him.

“Longfellow.”

“Ah.” It was not an understanding expression.

“Sorry to knock into you.” Jehan said, bashfully. The other boy said nothing, but squinted down at Jehan.

“Are those… _foxes_?” He asked, openly horrified.  Jehan nodded, smiling, he loved these pants. Now was as good a time as ever to get off the ground, he figured. Jehan made his way to standing before reaching to haul his bag back up. “How are you even carrying that?” The boy asked. And without another word he took the strap from Jehan’s grasp and put it on his own shoulder. Jehan seriously doubted this other boy could do a better job with his wiry frame and skinny arms, but he wasn’t about to complain. “What room?” The shadowy boy asked.

As it turned out, Jehan’s room was only two doors down, but the poet appreciated the gesture nonetheless. This place was just getting better and better. Adorable beach décor, a very friendly front desk receptionist, and now a beautiful boy carrying his luggage for him? What more could Jehan possibly ask for?

Once alone in his new room, Jehan itched to write. He would compose a piece, inspired by the Longfellow poem, but adapted to fit the Musain Inn. He dug though his bag, excitedly, ready to get to work, but he couldn’t find his journal anywhere. Jehan felt like he was going a little bit crazy. He had triple checked his bag to be positive he had his journal with him, but it was nowhere to be found.

~

ENJOLRAS WAS RUNNING very, very late.

This was about as surprising as Combeferre’s early arrival that morning. Enjolras was almost always the last to arrive anywhere, unless Bossuet was having a particularly bad day. No one was expecting to see him before check-in time. The group was, though, a bit miffed that he still hadn’t shown by 10 PM that night.

Enjolras would have just been running regular late, but about three quarters of the way to Corinth Cove, his car broke down and he’d been stuck at the mechanic ever since. He was sitting in a very uncomfortable chair, watching yet _another_ mechanic attempt to diagnose his car’s problem, when his phone rang. Enjolras knew it would be Combeferre before he even looked at the screen. It was honestly miraculous that they had waited this long to try to get in touch.

“Hey, Ferre.” He greeted, but it was definitely not Combeferre on the other end.

“Enj-ol-RAS!” Yep, that was unmistakably Courfeyrac. “Why. Aren’t. You. Here. Yet?” Courf did this thing whenever he was mad, where he chopped all of his sentences into very distinct, separate syllables.

“Christ, Courf, stop screaming. Are you guys out partying already?!” He _tried_ not to sound judge-y, he really did. It was just so hard sometimes.

“No! Well, kind of! We’re at the Inn. How far are you?” Courfeyrac answered. Enjolras was majorly confused by this answer. He could barely hear Courfeyrac over the thrum of music and loud chatter. Those were not Inn-like noises.

“I’m not far, about forty minutes out, but my car broke down and no one can seem to figure out the issue.” Enjolras explained. “We were supposed to have a meeting tonight.” He said, pointedly.

“Yes, but you are not here, mon ami.”

“I mean, I thought that _possibly_ you might just carry on without me. Am I the only one who actually cares about anything we do?” Enjolras knew he was whining. He was grumpy from sitting it the mechanic’s for so long, grumpy because he should be by the beach right now.

“Ferre tried to start up a meeting, but then our new friends showed up, and well, the rest is history!”

“Who?! You’ve already made new friends?”

“Yes! And. They. Are. AWESOME.” So they were back here. “You have to come meet them. Pronto.” Enjolras heard some shuffling and yelling on the other end. The sound of Courfeyrac’s squeal and Enjolras’ car engine rang out at the same time, creating a strange and cringe worthy harmony. Finally his car was running. “Ok, shit, I gotta go, Enj. Joly and Bousset just accidently tore Musichetta’s bracelet off her wrist and everyone is freaking out.”

“Who?!” This was all making less sense as time went on.

“You’ll. Meet. Her. When. You. Get. Here! SO GET HERE.” And the line went dead.

~

GRANTAIRE HAD ALWAYS been the first to admit he’s an attention whore when he’s drunk. He wasn’t sure why, but alcohol increased his love for hearing his own voice tenfold. Even better, was when other people would listen to him ramble, and this crowd was simply loving it. They were hanging on to his every word, as he retold the epic tale of their one day old friendship bracelets.

When Musichetta’s bracelet had been torn in two by a couple of the new guests at the Inn (they both tried to spin her under their arms at the same time), the rest of Grantaire’s friends whooped and cheered, and Grantaire himself began knocking his head on the countertop. All of their new friends were curious about this reaction, and so Grantaire promised to tell the story.

“Okay,” Courfeyrac, the most boisterous of the bunch, began. “You should wait for Jehan though, he loves stories.”

“Sure, where is that little poet, anyway?” Grantaire asked. He had become quite taken with Jean Prouvaire over the past few hours, as did the rest of his friends, surely.

“He said he was going to search his room for Mariella again. He swears he packed her, but she’s definitely not in that room. He said something about all of us being too inspiring not to write down.”

“There’s another one of you? Who the fuck is Mariella?”

“His journal.”

“That makes so much more sense.”

And so they drank, and waited for Prouviare, and drank, and Grantaire’s story became more colorful every minute it was stuck in his mind. Finally, Jehan returned, still mournful and emptyhanded. “No luck.” He clucked, and stuck his bottom lip out forlornly.

“Cheer up, flower!” This was Courfeyrac. “Grantaire is going to tell us a story.” And Jehan’s eyes really did brighten.

“That’s right! Ladies and gentleman gather ‘round for a peek into the sad life of Grantaire.” He wound up climbing onto the table. Everyone cheered. “This story begins with my incredible and stunning best friend, Eponine. Ponine please stand up. Round of applause for Ponine everybody.” They clapped and cheered. Montparnasse booed and Eponine threw her flip flop at him. “You see, Eponine makes the most beautiful bracelets any one of you has ever seen.” Grantaire declared.

“He’s exaggerating.” Eponine said with a roll of her eyes, but Jehan grabbed her wrist and inspected the bracelets there.

“No, he’s not! These are lovely!”

“Exactly. Now, she’s been making these bracelets ever since I’ve known her, and turns out there was something about them we never knew. Our new friend, the lovely Cosette told us that if you wish on your bracelet before you tie it on, it won’t fall off until your wish is going to come true.” Cosette stood on her chair and curtsied, while the crowd cheered. In the midst of this, Grantaire saw Marius accidently glance up Cosette’s skirt, turn bright scarlet, and turn his attention very quickly to a rather boring salt shaker. “Beautiful, beautiful. Ok, Ponine, care to hold your bracelet arm up for me, so everyone can see?” Eponine obeyed. Grantaire felt like some sort of game show host or magician. “So, not counting the bracelet we made last night, about how long do these guys stay tied around your wrist?”

“Like, forever.” Eponine shrugged. “I’ve had a couple of these for three summers now.”

“And have you even known one to fall off in less than twenty-four hours.”

“No I have not.”

“So, you see, we expected to wear these bracelets all summer, maybe into the year.” Grantaire heard Parnasse gag. “Thank you Eponine. Cosette. Are you still wearing a bracelet? No? When did it come off?”

“This morning, or last night, when I was sleeping.” She answered dutifully.

“Interesting, interesting. And what of your wish?”

“It, um, I think it could be coming true.” She smiled.

“Beautiful. Just beautiful. Now back to Ponine. Your bracelet fell of not long after, is that correct?” She nodded. “Has your wish come true since then?”

“Doubtful.”

“But still possible?” He asked. She shrugged. “Now, Montparnasse over here tampered with the special bracelet magic by chopping it to pieces with his pocket knife.” Everyone looked over to Parnasse as though they were truly disappointed in him. It was hilarious.

“I _told_ you, R. I control my own fate. My wish will come true, I will make sure of it.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. So friends, if you have been counting along, you’ll know that the only two bracelets left were Musichetta’s and my own. You all saw the accidental, and nearly impossible tearing of Chetta’s bracelet. Chetta, what say you?”

“It’s too soon to tell, R.” She called. “You’ve gotta give a wish time.”

“Wise words Chetta, wise words.” Grantaire paused for effect. Thank you, high school drama elective. “So, here I am. I stand before you, the last wearer of the infamous bracelet. I can tell you with absolute certainty that my bracelet will never fall of, because I know for a fact that my wish can never come true. Because, of this, I have no problem sharing my wish with you all tonight.” Grantaire’s audience chattered. Eponine leaned forward with interest, like she knew this would be good.

“What’s the wish?!” Jean Prouviare called out after a few long moments, impatient.

“I wished, last night, if you can believe it, to fall i--” Grantaire was cut off by the sound of a clearing throat, in an otherwise silent room.

“Uh, hello?” Grantaire lifted his head toward the words and felt all of the oxygen leave his body. All of it. Gone. It looked as though the newcomer might have been standing there for a minute or two, which baffled Grantaire to no end. How could he have not noticed that this greek god, this personification of the sun, perfection of a boy had walked into his café? Apollo. His eyes bore down on his surroundings, and on anyone else the expression might have looked like annoyance, but on this boy it was fury. It took Grantaire seconds, which felt like entire hours, to realize that the world was still turning, that like was moving on without him.

“Enj, finally.” Courfeyrac said. “Grab a seat.”

“What is going on?” Apollo asked. Fury. But no one else seemed fazed.

“R is telling a story and you interrupted at the most exciting part!” Courfeyrac exclaimed. Apollo turned his gaze to Grantaire. Fury. Grantaire wished he could wave, or maybe smile, but the only thing he was capable of doing was standing stock still there on the table, open-mouthed, and slightly dizzy. Beautiful fury, directed right a Grantaire. Apollo snapped his gaze away and back to Courfeyrac. Not fair. Courfeyrac did net even seem affected.

“Is this story more important than the state of our society, Courfeyrac? We were supposed to have our first meeting.”

“Enjolras, it’s almost eleven!”

_Enjolras, Enjolras, Enjolras, Enjolras, Enjo—wait, what?_

“Maybe if this _R_ hadn’t been so distracting, you would all still be coherent enough to make a schedule.” Apollo—Enjolras had said. Oh, no thank you.

“Hey, you. Dude. Yeah, you. We’re just having some fun, yeah? Try it some time.” Grantaire shot back. Enjolras looked almost appalled Grantaire had even deigned speak to him. It was just so _pretty_ on his face though. Fuck!

“Enj, chill out. If you wanted to have a meeting, you should have gotten here earlier.” Combeferre’s eyebrows just peeked out from over the rims of his glasses. Enjolras deflated a bit. Grantaire was rather impressed. “R, don’t take it personally. He’s grumpy.”

“I am not grumpy, Ferre.”

“Please, R, carry on.” That Combeferre was powerful when he wanted to be.

The problem was, Grantaire definitely could not carry on anymore. He just couldn’t. It was one thing to speak of his embarrassing wish in front of the bunch of them, all smiley and definitely not the sun god reincarnate. This Enjolras, however, was a different story. Grantaire did not know how to proceed. To finish the story would reveal it all to this boy, who already seemed to think he had the upper hand. It would give him ammunition, not to mention, reveal to him Grantaire’s truly sad and lacking romantic history. This would simply not do.

“Oh, yes, the wish…” He trailed off, stalling. Jehan was practically bouncing up and down in his seat by now. “The wish that shall never come true. It’s… see, I wished—”

“WAIT, R, NO!” From what Grantaire had seen, Jehan was a quiet boy. Whenever he spoke it was like a soft little song, but that made this outburst all the more dramatic. All eyes were on the tiny poet as he got up from his chair and scurried over to Grantaire’s table. “You can’t tell us, R.” The soft talking was back, and it was somehow voicing Grantaire’s own thoughts. Maybe this Jean Prouviare was some sort of seer. A poet-seer. Either way, Grantaire was relieved and forever indebted to Jehan. The boy reached out, his sleeve pulling up to reveal a vine of tangled flowers which climbed in colorful ink up his forearm. What a magical boy. Grantaire still had no idea what was going on. Jehan pointed to something on the table, and there, wedged under Grantaire’s beat up Sanuk, was Grantaire’s bracelet. “You can’t tell us R, because it seems your wish is about to come true, and unfortunately, telling us would jinx it.”

“Oh. Fuck.”

“Eponine,” Jehan said. “When can I get one of those bracelets?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shoot me an ask @ballerinalouis.tumblr.com


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